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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27176219">Tucker and Zipper</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumpyHeidi/pseuds/HumpyHeidi'>HumpyHeidi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Men's Football RPF, The Thick of It (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Bisexual Male Character, Domestic Fluff, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, Retired Malcolm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:15:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,211</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27176219</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumpyHeidi/pseuds/HumpyHeidi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The professor is a workaholic football manager, suddenly he retires and meet another ex-workaholic Malcolm Tucker, who has no idea who this celebrity is but find him rather intriguing.<br/>Rated M for the Tucker-ish language (for now).<br/>中文在后面</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Lost Soul</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I’ve just finished reading Arsene Wenger’s autobiography and I had this enormous urge to write something. So here it is. Yes, it is a rps, so if you hate Arsenal or Mr Wenger, DON'T READ IT.</p><p>And it’s an AU story. Initially, I meant to write this as an Arsene Wenger/Peter Capaldi story, since these two silver foxes have so many things in common, in terms of the way they appreciate creativity and the ideas about willing to sacrifice more financially to keep one's hold in the situation. (Peter used to give advice to young film-maker: make a movie with as little money as possible; the more money is given by others, the less power you have.) But Peter is so happily married that I am not able to write his rps in case there would be some fluff (I don't know yet), so I used Malcolm instead and found it surprisingly interesting. </p><p>Hope someone else would find it interesting too, any comments will be deeply appreciated.<br/>p.s. Not a native English speaker, only been in London once and know simply nothing about London, so please forgive me if there's any inconsistency.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malcolm loves this garden.<br/>
It’s not like the fancy garden he used to have in his old suburban house, where hackers would hide behind the bushes with a camera. It’s a public garden for everybody but he felt connected to it the first time he landed his feet on it. It’s the reason he rent this apartment, and he considered that a wise decision.<br/>
He always spent the afternoon in the garden when he can, enjoying the precious sunshine. Sometimes he read, sometimes his nephew and niece would drop by and ask for some love advice, and sometimes he just sits on the bench and feeling the peace. How funny it is that after a lifetime in the turmoils in British politics, he would end up here in North London and nobody recognized him anymore. After the Golding Inquiry, he spent months in jail and then disappeared from politics for good. He went back to the highland to stay with sheep for years. Quite a joke, isn't it?  He used to play with sheep when he was a kid, and then when he's a grown-up, he controlled the sheep-like-people, manipulating the media with all the pointless rubbish stories, and then back to the sheep and find them more adoring than a human being. However, Sam asked him to help her with the PR thing in the company she runs now. So here he is, back to London in a cosy small apartment where no hackers are interested in him anymore.<br/>
Sheeple has less memory ability than a goldfish.</p><p>That man is here again.<br/>
The man with grey hair, always in a suit and a dark red tie, sit by the wheel alone in the black car, lingering around those apartment buildings, but never got out. It should have been more than 2 months since the first time Malcolm spotted it. Even when it rains, when Malcolm wandered onto his balcony with a cuppa in hand, he could spot the car occasionally.<br/>
That car somehow distracted him, it shouldn't have been.  It was just an ordinary black car driven by an ordinary old man. Well, an extraordinarily good-looking ordinary old man. Yes, he did have a glimpse of that face secretly.<br/>
Malcolm got suspicious, of course, he always was. Old habit dies hard. There was some pattern there. The car always showed up on Monday or Friday and it was usually late afternoon. He even used to think the man was a spy or even a stalker of some kind. But Malcolm has a hunch, that man was not a trouble himself, but being troubled by something, something related to this garden.</p><p>Malcolm even had the idea of go to talk to him, well, that is something strange.  All the necessary talk (more like bantering or shouting) in the last 20 years has exhausted him. Nowadays he’s trying to avoid any conversation as long as he could.</p><p>Then one day, something suddenly changes. That car would appear almost every day. Sometimes in the morning too. One day Malcolm went to Sam’s for dinner and when he returned at about 10, he stepped out of the cab and walked past the familiar black car. He couldn’t help but stopped. The man behind the wheel didn’t notice him at all, still gazed at the moonlit garden, as if he was looking at something but couldn’t see anything. Malcolm knew that look, that’s the look of someone who has devoted everything into a cause but then suddenly been denied the right to keep giving. It was the look Malcolm saw in his own eyes in the mirror after the Inquiry. A lost soul.</p><p>"Are you considering moving in here? The view of the garden from the window is fantastic." He asked, trying to be casual. "I’ve got a feeling that you’ve learnt more about his land than I do since I’ve only been living here for a couple of months."</p><p>"You have no idea." the man murmured with a French accent.<br/>
Then he suddenly realized that he was not alone and shot Malcolm a look as if he has just woke up from a dream.<br/>
"Sorry." The French man seemed a little bit shy. "I’m leaving now."<br/>
"Don’t worry, I won’t call the police." Malcolm smiled.<br/>
"It' was not the police I’m worried about, it’s the journalist."The French man returned the smile. "Good night. Bye-bye."<br/>
Then he zoomed away.<br/>
"Good night," Malcolm said, knowing that he would no longer be heard. An enemy of an enemy is a friend, even if that friend is French.<br/>
</p><p>...Chinese Version of this story...<br/>
</p><p>Malcolm很喜欢这个花园。<br/>
</p><p>
这不像他的旧房子后面的私人花园，狗仔们会拿着相机埋伏在草丛后面。这是个公用的花园，任何人都可以进来。而当他的脚第一次踏上这片花园时，他就感到了一种归属感。这个花园让他租下了这间公寓，他对这个决定很满意。<br/>
</p><p>
只要有机会，他下午就会待在花园里，享受难得的好天气。有时他会读本书，有时他的侄子侄女会来拜访他，向他讨教一些关于恋爱的建议，有时他只是坐在长椅上享受宁静。生活真有趣，在混乱的英国政坛摸爬滚打了小半辈子之后，他居然可以蜗居在北伦敦却无人知晓。Golding调查之后他在监狱待了几个月，然后永远告别了政坛。他回到苏格兰高地，跟羊群待了一阵子。这也够讽刺的，他小时候和绵羊们一起玩耍，成年后又用媒体控制着如羊群一样热衷于盲从的人类，然后又回到了真正的羊群中间。羊群比人类更可爱，他现在这么想。<br/>
然而，Sam还是把他劝回了英格兰，名义上是帮她的公司做点PR之类的事情，实际上是担心他一个人与世隔绝会疯掉。于是他就这样住在这件小公寓里，已经没有狗仔对他感兴趣了。<br/>
盲从的人类啊，记忆比金鱼还短。</p><p>那个人又来了。<br/>
那个银发的男人，总是穿着西装，常戴着暗红色的领带，独自驾驶一辆黑色的小轿车在他的公寓楼下徘徊，从来不下车。<br/>
Malcolm第一次注意到他是两个月之前了。就算是雨天，当Malcolm捧着一杯热茶在阳台上看风景时，也偶尔会注意到那辆车。<br/>
那辆车让他很在意，仿佛那并不是个寻常的老男人开着寻常的黑色轿车。好吧，这个老男人长得的确有些不寻常的英俊。是的，Malcolm又不瞎，他的确看到了。<br/>
Malcolm有些起疑，当然，他永远都充满怀疑。积习难改。那辆车的出现时间是有规律的，往往是周一或者周五的傍晚。他曾经怀疑那个男人是某种间谍甚至跟踪狂。但是直觉告诉他，那个男人本身并不会制造麻烦，而是陷于某个麻烦之中，那麻烦跟这座花园有着千丝万缕的联系。<br/>
Malcolm甚至有过去跟他搭讪的念头，好吧，这就有些奇怪了。过去20年那些难以避免的口舌（更多是争吵或者咆哮）已经把他耗尽了。现在他能不开口就不开口。</p><p>忽然某一天，情况发生了变化。Malcolm几乎每天都会看到那辆车，时间不再那么固定，有时是早上，有时是下午。有一天Malcolm去Sam家吃了晚饭10点多才回，走下出租车后，他从那辆熟悉的黑车旁走过，忍不住停下了脚步。<br/>
车里的人并没有注意到他，只是注视着月光下的花园，他好像在看什么东西，却又什么也没看。Malcolm懂那个眼神，为了某种东西付出了自己的全部之后，却忽然被剥夺了继续付出的资格，那是他自己在听证会结束后在镜子里看到的自己的眼神，失去了灵魂的人的眼神。</p><p>“你是在考虑搬到这儿来住吗？”Malcolm故作随意地说，“我觉得你对这地方的研究比我充分多了，毕竟我才来住了几个月而已。”<br/>
“你想象不出来的。”那个男人喃喃地说。嗯，法国男人。<br/>
忽然他仿佛刚意识到自己不是在自言自语，惊讶地看着Malcolm，如梦初醒一般。“我很抱歉，”他有点不好意思，“我这就走。”<br/>
“你不用担心，我不会报警的。”Malcolm友善地一笑。<br/>
“我更担心的是记者，而不是警察。”法国人也微微一笑，启动了汽车，“晚安，再见”<br/>
“晚安”Malcolm目送着他的车离去。敌人的敌人是朋友，哪怕这个朋友是法国人。</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Room with A View</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Malcolm invited the Frenchman to his place for a tea.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Have you ever thought of coming out someday?" Malcolm asked abruptly.<br/>
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" The Frenchman frowned.<br/>
"Out of the car, not the closet." Malcolm chuckled. The Frenchmen didn't wear a ring, he'd noticed. His fingers were pale and slender, just like Malcolm's. He often squeezed his hand into a fist and touched it woth his lips as he stared at the garden in contemplation, or gently nibbled on his fingers, just the way Malcolm had been used to do all the time in the old days.<br/>
The Frenchman still come now and then, though not as frequently as he had in the summer. It was getting chillier, and before you knew it it was late autumn, and the garden was tinted warm with red leaves. Malcolm would say hi to him from time to time when passing by, and he would respond politely, talking about insignificant things like the weather.<br/>
"Tweedledick and Tweedletwat are here today, you should meet them."<br/>
"Wh ... What?" The Frenchman had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.<br/>
"The two wee ducklings in the pond, they don't come every day, and now that it's getting cold, you might have to wait until next year if you miss them today. I was reading a serious book over there on the bench and they were taunting me by doing some shameless display of  Kama Sutra."<br/>
"Sounds like fun, but sorry," the Frenchman gave an apologetical look, "I don't think I'm ready to be there, the garden, too many memories there."<br/>
"Then would you like to come to my place for a cup of tea?" the words were out before Malcolm knew what he was saying, "The garden looks lovely from my balcony, and you can also keep a safe distance."<br/>
The Frenchman frowned, looking at Malcolm seriously as if trying to figure out what he was thinking. Bloody hell, Malcolm didn't even know what he was thinking himself.<br/>
"OK," the Frenchman said, surprisingly.<br/>
"By the way, I'm Tucker," Malcolm showed a wide grin. Inviting a stranger home was something Malcolm hadn't done in probably 22 years, and he figured it would be better to at least exchange names.<br/>
"Nice to meet you, Mr Tucker. I'm... Charles," the Frenchman's smile seemed a little evasive or was Malcolm imaging it.</p>
<p>Malcolm didn't get many visitors to this little nest. Sam and her husband had come by after he'd just moved in and cooked a meal to celebrate, and his niece and nephew visited occasionally, that's all.<br/>
"Nice place," The Frenchman said as he walked in the door.<br/>
"Thanks, you should see my old cottage," Malcolm helped him take off his coat. Standing so close to each other, Malcolm realised that the other guy was even taller and thinner than he was, with more grey hair. "Of course, I'm sure your place is no worse than mine." The Frenchman's suit was nicely tailored, and the feel of the coat told Malcolm that this guy couldn't have made less than he had back in the old days. So at least this stranger wouldn't murder him for his money.<br/>
"The balcony's over there, you can have a look around while I make the tea, be my guest," Malcolm went into the kitchen, prepared the tea and later walked up to the balcony with two mugs.<br/>
The Frenchman was leaned against the railing and looking down at the garden. The melancholy returned to his face. He seemed so slender and vulnerable as if any winter wind could blow him away.<br/>
"I'm sorry, but this is the only kind of tea I have." Malcolm gently handed him the mug. "Since you still have to drive later, I won't tempt you with my collection of some French horse piss, or even better,  my exquisite collection of the real stuff from Scotland."<br/>
The Frenchman took the mug, glimpsed at the tag on the teabag and smiled wryly. "Thank you very much, for the tea, and for letting me come here to share the view, you have no idea what that means to me."<br/>
He was so polite, kept thanking him all the time. The French way of saying 'th' usually made Malcolm sick, but when the words are coming from this one, it was magic.<br/>
"So, where are the corpses hidden in this secret garden?" Malcolm stood beside the Frenchman and followed his gaze to the garden.<br/>
"I have lost my soul there." ignoring his joke, the Frenchman failed to cover the hint of sadness in his tone.<br/>
"I know that already, tell me something new," Malcolm said half-jokingly.<br/>
"Haha," the Frenchman forced laughter, shaking his head, "Where're the ducks you mentioned?"<br/>
"Over there, Tweedledick and Tweedletwat are fucking around with your old weeping soul." Malcolm reached down and pointed, the Frenchman squinted to follow his indication.<br/>
"Ah, yes." The Frenchman succeeded in locating the ducks, smiled, then asked, eyeing the wall of pictures in the living room, "So, Mr Tucker, do you kiss your kids with the same mouth?"<br/>
"Precisely, the same fucking fouled mouth," Malcolm looked at the pictures, there were one of his nephew's family, and one of him and his niece in front of a library in Cambridge, "those are my sister's children, though I consider them as my own, and I'm incredibly proud of them. Although Kyla is now going to be a Poxbridge lass."<br/>
"My daughter's at Cambridge, too," the Frenchman said calmly.<br/>
"Ah, sorry." So he has a daughter, Malcolm thought, but he didn't look offended, so Malcolm gestured with dancing hands to make his point clearer, "Well, not really sorry. Of course, I want the best for the wee bairns, but if they forget their roots and become as arrogant as those patronizing cunts who think they're superior to everybody else, I will keep on showering them with the most intense fucking berate until even they're wanking in their graves they can still hear the echoes lingering inside the coffins."<br/>
"I'm sure no one wants to be in that shoes, or coffins, Mr Tucker," the Frenchman chuckled.<br/>
He has this glow in his eyes when he smiled as if he were a teenager.<br/>
So the two men began to talk about their childhoods, Malcolm was shearing sheep in the Highlands, and the Frenchman was milking horses by the Rhine, as a youth Malcolm liked to play music and French was good at dancing, their first girlfriends both later married one of their buddies ... Before they knew it, it was dark outside.<br/>
"I'm afraid I have to go now. " having finished his third cup of tea, the Frenchman got up from the couch, "You really don't know who I am, do you, Mr Tucker?".<br/>
"Does it matter? Are you trying to impress me by telling me that you’re some so-called celebrity clown? My old fucking face was on the BBC News and all the papers one day." Malcolm raised one finger. He did think there was something familiar about the Frenchman, but he couldn't remember where he had seen him before. He wasn't a politician, he wasn't a sponsor of a major conglomerate, and he certainly wasn't a singer or movie star.<br/>
"Ah, only one day..." the Frenchman walked to the door and gave Malcolm another smile as he put on his coat, "I really should be going, thank you again for having me here."<br/>
"My job has consumed me for 22 years," Malcolm said, brow furrowed, staring into the Frenchman's eyes, sounding more agitated than he thought he was, "For 22 years, I always slept for no more than 20 hours a week, the work could easily go on for two or three days without a single minute left for me to eat or sleep. My wife left me way early,  and not many friends could stand me either. I wasn't there at my niece's graduation ceremony. I missed my nephew's wedding. Of course, I bought them expensive gifts to apologize, but I knew that there’s something that could never be made up to. I was such a incorrigible prick to my family because I was doing something more important, something about life and death, or at least that's what I believed back in those days. Then suddenly one day, I somehow became fucking out-dated, those wankers didn't need me anymore, and then for a long time I didn't know who the fuck I was, or what the fuck I was supposed to do. Those morons took away every fucking thing in my life from me, and I had no choice but to get away from all the shits had surrounded me ..." he realized he was almost shouting, stopped to take a deep breath for a change and murmured slowly. "So probably that's why I don't know who the fuck you are. It's like I was in a fucking coma for 22 years but suddenly woke up to see every fucking thing in my life has fucking changed..."<br/>
The unexpected confession stunned the Frenchman, who froze in his tracks, then said softly, "I feel exactly the same way."<br/>
"I know, I can see that, that's why I wanted so fucking much to know you." Malcolm held out his hand to the Frenchman, "I'm Malcolm Tucker, and I want to be your friend."<br/>
The Frenchman slowly took Malcolm's hand and shook gently, "It's been a great honour to be your friend, Mr Malcolm Tucker", he bowed his head and turned towards the door. "I really should be going now, Goodnight, Malcolm."<br/>
"Your name isn't really Charles, is it?" Malcolm raised an eyebrow.<br/>
"Finding the answer is too easy for you, Malcolm. Goodbye. Thanks again for letting me share your view, mon ami," the Frenchman smiled and walked out of the door.<br/>
Failed to utter another audible word, Malcolm heaved a sigh, walking up slowly to close the door, murmuring "fuckity bye " , only to find his niece at the door, flabbergasted.<br/>
"What the bloody hell was the Professor doing here?"<br/>
"Mind your language, lass, your mom blames me every time you swear. And you were saying…Professor who?"</p>
<p>“你就没想过出来吗？”Malcolm 忽然问。<br/>
“不好意思，你说什么？”法国人皱起了眉头。<br/>
“从车里，不是从柜子里。”Malcolm 咯咯笑起来，法国人没戴戒指，他早就注意到了。法国人的手指白净而修长，就像 Malcolm 的手指那样。他盯着花园沉思的时候总是把拳头放到自己的唇边，或者轻轻地啃指头，就像 Malcolm 以前的习惯那样。<br/>
法国人依然经常出现，虽然没有夏天时那么频繁。天气已经转凉了，不知不觉已是深秋，花园被红叶染成了暖色调。Malcolm 时不时会跟他打招呼，而他也会礼貌地回应，聊一些天气之类无关痛痒的话题。<br/>
“今天呆傻逼和蠢贱货来了，你应该见见他们。”<br/>
“什……什么？”法国人明显不知道他在说什么。<br/>
“池塘里的两只野鸭子，它们并不是每天都来，现在天气冷了，我想你如果错过了的话可能就要等到明年了。我刚才在长椅那边看书时，它们在我面前展示各种《爱经》的体位来嘲弄我。”<br/>
“听起来很有趣，但是，还是不了，”法国人抱歉地看着 Malcolm，“我想我还没准备好去花园，这地方有太多回忆了。”<br/>
“那你想不想到我家来喝杯茶。”Malcolm 还没来得及多想，话已出口，“站在我家的阳台看风景时，花园很可爱，而且你也可以保持安全距离。”<br/>
法国男人皱起了眉，认真地看着 Malcolm，仿佛想弄清楚他的真实想法。该死的，Malcolm 自己都不知道自己在想什么。<br/>
“OK”法国人出乎意料地说。<br/>
“另外，我是 Tucker，”把一个陌生人请回家这种事Malcolm 有20多年没干过了，他想至少交换一下姓名比较好。<br/>
“很高兴认识你，Tucker 先生。我是 Charles。”也许是Malcolm 的错觉，法国人似乎笑得有点调皮。</p>
<p>Malcolm 的这个小窝并没有太多人来过，Sam 和她的丈夫在他刚搬进来后来过，做了餐饭庆祝了一下，他的侄子侄女偶尔来拜访，再就没有别人了。<br/>
“这房间真不错” 法国人进门就礼貌地说。<br/>
“谢谢，你应该看看我以前的别墅，”Malcolm 帮他把大衣挂在门边。近距离站在对方身边，他才意识到对方比自己还高，比自己还瘦，头发比自己的还白得多。“当然，我相信你的地方不会比我这儿差” 法国人的西服明显是量身定做的，大衣的手感也告诉他，对方不可能比自己当年赚的少。所以，至少这个陌生人不会谋财害命。<br/>
“阳台在这边，你先随意看看，我去泡茶，”Malcolm 走进了厨房，烧水、找茶包、泡茶，然后拿着两个马克杯走上了阳台。<br/>
法国人倚在栏杆上，看着下面的花园，脸上那种失神的样子又回来了。他是那么消瘦，仿佛风一来就会把他吹走一样。<br/>
“不好意思，我只有这种茶。” Malcolm 慢慢地把茶递到他的面前，“因为你是开车来的，所以我就不用我珍藏的法国马尿玩意儿诱惑你了，或者我们苏格兰的真家伙。”<br/>
法国人接过茶杯，看了一眼茶包的吊牌，莞尔一笑。“非常感谢。感谢你的茶，以及让我来这里看花园，你不知道这对我来说有什么意义。”<br/>
“所以，这个神秘花园里到底藏了多少尸体？”Malcolm站到法国人身边，顺着他的目光看向花园。<br/>
“我把灵魂丢在这里了。”法国人的语气里带着一丝悲伤。<br/>
“这个我早就看出来了，告诉我点儿我不知道的。”Malcolm 半开玩笑地说。<br/>
“哈哈”法国人摇着头笑了，“你说的鸭子在哪儿？”<br/>
“在那儿，呆傻逼和蠢贱货正在你的老灵魂上翻云覆雨呢。”Malcolm 伸手指向下面，法国人眯起眼睛看过去。<br/>
“啊，真的。”法国人微笑起来，眼光看向客厅的照片墙，“所以，Tucker 先生，你用同一张嘴亲吻你的孩子们吗？”<br/>
“完全正确，同一张嘴，”Malcolm 看了一眼挂着的涂鸦，还有侄子一家三口度假的照片，以及他和侄女在剑桥一座图书馆前的合影，“不过，那是我姐姐的孩子，我为他们骄傲，虽然Kyla现在就要成为一个傲慢的牛剑呆子了。”<br/>
“我女儿也在剑桥，”法国人说。<br/>
“啊，抱歉。”所以他有个女儿，Malcolm 暗想，但是法国人的表情并没有生气，于是 Malcolm 想继续阐明他的观点，伸出手在空中比划起来，“其实我并不真的感到抱歉。我当然希望孩子们能拥有最好的，但是如果他们忘记自己的根，跟那些自认为高人一等的贱货一样目中无人，我会毫不犹豫地痛骂他们直到他们进了坟墓隔着棺材板儿都还能听到回响。”<br/>
“我相信没人想体会那种感觉，Tucker 先生”法国人笑着说。<br/>
他笑起来时眼中的光彩，就仿佛是个十几岁的少年。<br/>
于是两个人开始聊各自小时候的事，他们都有清贫的童年， Malcolm 在苏格兰高地剪羊毛，法国人在莱茵河畔挤马奶，青年时代的 Malcolm 喜欢玩音乐，而法国人很擅长跳舞，他们的初恋女友后来都嫁给了自己的哥们……不知不觉，天色晚了。<br/>
“我想我该走了，”法国人喝完了第三杯茶，起身的时候忽然问，“你真的不知道我是谁，对吗，Tucker 先生？” <br/>
“这很重要吗？你是想说你是某个名人来让我仰慕吗？我这张老脸也曾经在某一天上了 BBC 新闻和所有的报纸。”Malcolm 摊开手。他是觉得法国人有些眼熟，但却不记得在哪里见过。他不是政坛上的人，也不是大财团的赞助商，肯定也不是歌手或者电影明星吧。<br/>
“啊，曾经某‘一’天……”法国走到门口，一边穿大衣一边笑着说，“我该走了，再次谢谢你的招待。”<br/>
“我的工作在过去22年吞噬了我，”Malcolm 盯着法国人的眼睛说，语气比他自己原本设想的的要激动些，“22年，我一个星期总是只睡20小时，经常连续两三天不眠不休不吃不喝，我的妻子早就离开了我，能忍受我的朋友们也所剩无几。我错过了我侄女的毕业典礼，错过了我侄子的婚礼，我当然给他们买了昂贵的礼物来表达歉意，但我知道某些遗憾是永远无法弥补的。所有这一切只是因为我在做更重要的事，事关生死的事，至少当时的我深信不疑。忽然有一天，不知怎么的，我就他妈的成了被拍死在沙滩上的前浪，他们不需要我了。然后好长一段时间，我不知道自己是谁，不知道自己该做什么，他们夺走了我生命中的一切，我别无选择只能远离曾经包围我的那一切……”他意识到自己的音量大得接近咆哮了，停下来深深地换了口气，缓缓地低声说：“所以这也许是我不知道你是谁的原因，我就像昏迷了22年，才刚刚醒过来……”<br/>
这突如其来的一番话让法国人呆住了，他愣了愣，然后轻轻地说：“我的感觉跟你完全一样。”<br/>
“我知道，我从你的眼神里看出来了，所以我才这么想认识你。” Malcolm 向法国人伸出手，“我是 Malcolm Tucker，我想跟你交朋友”。<br/>
法国人缓缓抬起手，握住 Malcolm 的手，“能跟你交朋友是我的荣幸，Malcolm Tucker”，他低下头，转过身走向门口。“我真的该走了，晚安，Malcolm。”<br/>
“你并不真的叫 Charles，对吧？”Malcolm 对着法国人的背影问。<br/>
“找到这个答案对你来说太简单了，Malcolm，再见。再次感谢你让我分享阳台的风景，mon ami。”法国人回头对他笑了一下，走出了门。<br/>
Malcolm 没能说出告别的话，只能长出一口气，缓缓走过去要关门，门口却忽然出现了一个目瞪口呆的人，她的侄女Kyla。<br/>
“我勒个大草！教授在这里干什么？”<br/>
“好好说话，小丫头，你每次爆粗口你妈都怪我……还有，教授是谁？”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Le Professeur</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“The Professor, Le Professeur”<br/>
</p><p>
“Kyla, translating the word into French wouldn't clarify the meaning, do you understand that? So is he a professor in your uni? What does he teach, French?”<br/>
</p><p>
“NO! Uncle Malc, he’s not just a random professor, he’s The Professor, the manager of my football club, well, former manager, the Gunners.” Kyla was over-excited.<br/>
</p><p>
“How come an English club becomes your club? Isn’t your club a Glasgow one... Rangers?” Malcolm made a guess.<br/>
</p><p>
Kyla rolled her eyes, “It’s the Celtics.”<br/>
</p><p>
“Shit! I knew it’s one of the two!” Malcolm cursed in silence.<br/>
</p><p>
"Seriously? The Four-leaf Clover was the decoration theme of Duncan's wedding. Of course, you've no idea because you never showed up" Kyla replied bitterly.<br/>
</p><p>
Feeling guilty, Malcolm let out a long sigh.<br/>
</p><p>
Kyla was sweet enough not to dwell on the past, carried on, “But I also support the Gunners in the Premier League. The cutest guy in Celtics is now playing for the Gunner too. Anyway, That’s how football works. You support your hometown team from the start, it's more of a family thing, Duncan and I support the Celtics because Dad loves them. But you can also follow a top club, so you have more games to watch and more exciting moments to enjoy. It doesn't mean that you're not loyal or whatever.” Not sure whether Malcolm is still listening to her rambling, Kyla paused, “You really don’t know anything about sports, do you? Uncle Malc”<br/>
</p><p>
“That’s not true, I had lunch with Gary Lineker once, and there was another one in that lunch too, the prettier one of the Man United brothers, who's coaching the English girls football team now. Oh Oh! And I know the tennis lad, what’s his name… Andy Murray!”<br/>
</p><p>
“Only because he’s Scots.” Kyla retorted, “Anyway, don’t duck the question. Why is The Professor here? Is he about to get a new job so he wants to hire you for some PR issue? If he needs such a top PR like  you, it means the news would be a bombshell to fans... Don't tell me he's going to Man United or Chelsea...or what's worse, the Spurs!"<br/>
</p><p>
Certain anxiety rise in Kyla's voice, she kept quiet for some seconds. Malcolm chose to remain silent. Then the Oxbridge girl snapped instantly.<br/>
</p><p>
"No, that’s not right, you didn’t even know who he was, so it couldn’t be about work… So it should be something personal, something private...” squeezing her eyes, she focused her attention onto Malcolm's expression.<br/>
</p><p>
Kyla shared lots of resemblance with her mother, which meant all the good parts: the look (big eyes and untamed curls), the brain, the curiosity and the stamina. Being stared intensely by the young lady, feeling being seen through, Malcolm felt unavoidably intimidated, which of course he would never admit.<br/>
</p><p>
“OMG You two are seeing each other!” Kyla made her conclusion, “I knew it, Uncle Malc! I knew you were gay! I overheard my parents gossiping about you shagging the Leaders of the Opposition”<br/>
</p><p>
“What?! Wait… leaders? How did your mom know about Dan fucking Miller, I only told her I was shagging Nicola…”<br/>
</p><p>
“Oops, OVERSHARE ALERT! So you really have slept with more than one of them, no matter woman or man! You dirty old…”<br/>
</p><p>
“LANGUAGE! Lass! I told her about Nicola because she would read that on newspaper anyway! The woman wrote an autobiography and the story of our affair obviously promoted the selling. Tell your mom all the Christmas present she could expect from me next will be a copy of that book, signed by me! which she could then sell at 20 pounds on eBay. The shagging didn’t mean anything at all, it was purely a political thing. You know, sex is my vice to manipulate others, that’s how evil your Uncle Malc is. I didn’t even enjoy the blow jobs from those men… politicians were really boring bedmates. So you’d better avoid seeing any bloke from PPE, they will all turn out disappointing. Rated zero stars in the recommendation.”<br/>
</p><p>
“Blow jobs from THOSE MEN.”<br/>
</p><p>
“Shut up! I’m not gay, I had married once!”<br/>
</p><p>
“Yes, for like three months and I wasn’t even born then. So it doesn’t count as true history.” satisfied with her conclusion, Kyla took a seat in the couch, obviously began to enjoy this interrogation a little bit too much.<br/>
</p><p>
“No wonder the whole country is accelerating into disastrous omnishambles. Because the young generation like you lots, who are ironically considered so-called elite and got admitted into the best universities, would simply deny the history so easily.”<br/>
</p><p>
“You didn’t deny my words, that is really intriguing." Kyla smiled mischievously, holding her gaze into Malcolm's eyes. “so you are really dating the Prof! Uncle Malc, that’s fantastic! What a gorgeous silver fox you’ve got, you lucky old....”<br/>
</p><p>
“I never said that! We’re absolutely not dating yet!” Again, having spoken faster than he intended, Malcolm groaned and covered his face with palms. He has been isolated for too long and out of practice, starting to lose his touch probably. Or what’s worse, maybe he’s just getting old.<br/>
</p><p>
Kyla was overjoyed, hopped onto his side and giggled. “Yet, yet, yet… So you do want to date him, right?”<br/>
</p><p>
Still palming his face, Malcolm nodded in surrender after a few seconds.<br/>
</p><p>
“You definitely have a chance! You’re attractive enough and he’s been divorced for years. And I guess at this moment, he’s going through some emotional roller coaster, just like what you had years ago when you were sacked…”<br/>
</p><p>
“I wasn’t sacked! I resigned out of my fucking free will for everyone’s fucking sakes!” Malcolm shouted behind his hands.<br/>
</p><p>
“OK, Calm the F down. My point is, he's really a great man. He’s the one who succeeded in making some real changes. He had turned the Gunner from a boring team into an artist gang, leading them to the champions, won loads of trophies. But later people forgot how wonderful he was and began to complain about everything, still, he never spoke ill of anybody else but took all the blames himself. Until earlier this year, he got sa… resigned out of his own free effing will for everyone’s effing sakes.” Kyla paused, looking into Malcolm’s eyes with a gentle  smile, “You have a lot in common, maybe you haven't realized that yet. I genuinely believe you can help him, to go through this life crises by sharing your experience, and anything else that you’d like to share.”<br/>
</p><p>
Malcolm uttered another long groan and fell into silence.<br/>
</p><p>
“This place, where your apartment buildings are, used to be the stands of the Stadium of Gunners.  They had all the good golden days here, three Premier League Championships and other glory. The garden there used to be their playground, I saw it on telly when I was a little girl, the fans were so closed to the team that you could hug the player after he scoring a goal and dashing to celebrate. It's quite a different view from what it looks like now.”  Kyla looked out of the windows.<br/>
</p><p>
That's why he said he’d lost his soul here. Malcolm finally knew where the sorrow in the French eyes come from now.<br/>
</p><p>
Slowly he removed his hands from his face, peering at Kyla curiously. “So he’s not straight? But he has a daughter…”<br/>
</p><p>
“Well, it’s not a black or white thing, or put in a more politically correct way, a hetero or homo thing. You should’ve known better than that, Uncle Malc, you yourself is quite an example. There was a colourful story about him published some 20 years ago but he denied that immediately when it came out, then nobody talked about it anymore. It’ll be a piece of cake for you to dig out those tabloids stuff, or you could just be brave to ask him. I suppose you’ve got his number already.”<br/>
</p><p>
“Hmm…that’s another NOT plus YET, but it’s nothing,” Malcolm reached his mobile and sent Sam a message, then he got up and gave Kyla a wide grin, “OK, what would you like to have for dinner? I’ll order whatever food you want, and you’re going to tell me everything you know about The Professor tonight.”<br/>
</p><p>
“But I was here to discuss my assignment on social media with you,” Kyla complained, with only the slightest sincerity in her tone.<br/>
</p><p>
“Your assignment can wait. So what would you prefer, Chinese or Pizza?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>About Nicola’s autobiography, it’s the story called ‘Curtain Material’. Do check it out if you haven’t. https://archiveofourown.org/works/21810358</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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